


Inertia

by inkstrain (orphan_account)



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/inkstrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home isn't always a place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inertia

Sometimes he wakes up to gray, the leak-stained ceiling drenched by early morning light in smudges of silver and lead. The world is a monochrome thing, just a little bit washed-out from too much spinning, and he can't help but wonder if he looks just as worn: black, white and faded to almost milky, wisp-like in appearance and close to evaporating. 

_And he's only turning nineteen in a month but already weary of the life he's just about to live - wanting to disappear, maybe even join the clouds._

  


Distant movement from outside draws his gaze away from the meaningless patterns above him, the familiar sounds of temporary home. His bleary eyes find the bedroom door that separates him from reality _(but not for long),_ looking without seeing and listening to the clinking of porcelain, the sound of a breathy exhale, Akira's annoyed little mutters... 

"Oi Shima!" 

When his best friend's voice finally disrupts the stillness in their sorry-excuse of an apartment, it is joined by the insistent rapping of fist on wood. It's an irritating sound and, because it's the crack of dawn, the knocking seems ten times louder than it really is.

"Get up!"

But he doesn't move. He stays on his futon with his bones begging him to keep still for just a little while more, because if he starts moving then he'll have to ask: _what the hell am I doing here?_

And he's not sure of the answer anymore. 

  


"Shima! You're gonna be late for work, get the fuck up man!" Akira calls out again, knocking on the door harder before changing his mind about being polite it seems, because suddenly the door swings open and he's there, shirtless and barefoot with only his jeans on. "Come on, rise and shine... and shit!"

And he rolls his eyes before covering his face with a pillow to block out everything, mumbling _no piss off fucker I'm going to sleep for the rest of my life-_

The pillow gets yanked away, but only partly as he clings to it, and Akira cackles in sadistic glee as he all but growls at his best friend's sickeningly sweet little croon. "Oh no you don't!"

 _Yank._  
"I said fuck off!"  
_Yank back._  
"Was that what you were saying? "

  


Their tug-of-war ends when Akira finally times a certain tug perfectly, one hand on the cased thing and the other on the bottom of the sill, and the abused pillow flies across the room leaving a bleached-blonde boy grinning down at him. 

He glares up at the beaming face above him, clutching at his futon and wordlessly daring Akira to try and dislodge him from the covers. "I _hate_ you." He says weakly, but Akira only chuckles and throws himself down on the floor, an arm and a leg wrapped around him in a half-embrace.

"Aww but I _love_ you!" His best friend exclaims, pressing his nose on his cheek and nuzzling him like a puppy. "So so much Shima!"

 _Shove._  
"Ugh, move _bonkura!"_  
_Shove back._  
"No, staying here where you are!"

  


And with his morning breath and ruffled hair and unshaved chin, Akira stares at him and his imperfections but beams anyway, eyes sparkling so brightly that Takashima Kouyou's gray world is forced to get some of its color back. Overhead, a sliver of sunlight bathes the ceiling with yellow, but he's too busy being kissed by Akira to notice. 

"Don't move," Kouyou whispers with closed eyes, arms keeping his best friend where he is. "Don't you fucking move just yet, Akira." But he does, moves and presses himself closer, left cheek on right cheek with a sigh and a smile in his voice. 

"Okay, you get five more minutes."

Kouyou turns his head, nose pressed against Akira's skin. "Just five?" He asks, and gets an answering chuckle for that. "And the five minutes after that too."

His hands move to the back of a tanned neck, digits swooping in to claw at bleached scalp with tenderness. "Every one of them, then?"

Akira nods, voice still smiling. "Yes. All of my five minutes are yours."

And when he asks himself again later that day as his shift ends at the conbini, a silly grin that somewhat scares all of his customers still on his face, he gets a text message from Akira and he decides this, this is the reason why he's here.

  


The message in his inbox reads:  
_I'm home, what do you want for dinner?_


End file.
